


Light of Our Great Saints

by paien



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Ziio likes to torment Haytham sometimes, but they love each other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paien/pseuds/paien
Summary: Ziio is eavesdropping for news of Braddock but instead encounters a strange Englishman who she has never seen in the Frontier.





	Light of Our Great Saints

**Author's Note:**

> AC3 is the first AC game that I've finished (I'm working on AC2 now - yes, I play the games in a great order, lol) and I decided I needed a happy place for Hayziio to live on, so here it is! Based loosely off the of the song St. Jame's by Avenged Sevenfold.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

**I**

There was nothing special about Haytham Kenway, Ziio thinks, as she observes him drinking amongst the patrons from her seat in the corner. He wears the same strange garments as the other men, the same ridiculous kind of hat. He speaks with the same aggravating English accent, the same sense of entitlement as those heinous men that hunt down her people.

 And yet—he is _different_ , somehow, in a manner that sets him apart from all in the tavern and even all in the colonies. His clothes are infuriatingly distracting in their grandeur, his hat frustratingly _endearing_ settled on top of his head and accentuating his sure posture. His speech is smooth and low, compelling people to obey his will with a grace and skill that those barking orders to harm her people can only dream to achieve.

 It’s interesting, she thinks, that she can observe this man for the first time and immediately reach these conclusions. Surely, then, his fellow white men can also see this—see the way he subtly directs their opinions and interactions. And yet—they follow him willingly, eagerly.

Their obedience is disgusting, repulsive in their blind deference to a single man. Ziio shakes her head. How foolish these colonists are, to readily offer such power _to this one maddeningly attractive man with his stupid hat and stupid voice_ _and_ —

Gods, he’s looking at her now. Ziio quickly averts her gaze and finishes off her drink. She has what she came here for, anyway.

* * *

“What news of the colonists’ movements?” the Clan Mother asks calmly when Ziio returns.

“We must still be watchful of The Bulldog, but there is no definite plan for his next actions.”

“Good.” The Clan Mother, observant as ever, touches Ziio gently on the arm. “But you are still troubled. Why?”

Ziio sighs. “There is a new man—one I’ve never seen before. He goes by the name of Haytham Kenway.”

“Is he in line with The Bulldog then?”

“It did not seem like it,” Ziio admits. “He is… strange. Stranger than any white man I’ve seen.”

Clan Mother nods sagely, although Ziio can’t imagine that she understood her poor attempt to describe Haytham Kenway. On the other hand, the Clan Mother is wise beyond comprehension, and Ziio shifts uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

“You will monitor them both, won’t you, Kaniehtí:io?” Clan Mother asks.

Ziio nods solemnly. “Of course, Clan Mother.”

 

** II **

It is actually an accident the next time Ziio comes across Haytham Kenway; she is preparing to slink after The Bulldog into the Concord tavern but is distracted by the conversation that floats toward her. She decides to tail Kenway and the dark-haired man with the moustache instead.

“What shall we do regarding Braddock?” Kenway’s companion asks. Ziio thinks his name may be Charles—one of many names overheard in the tavern.

Kenway is silent for a moment, pondering. “There is not much we can do for now,” he admits, “save for a direct attack. We will have to wait for him to move.”

“Of course, sir. Will we turn in for the night then?”

“You go on ahead, Charles. I’ve a few things to pick up at the general store.”

Ziio pauses briefly from her concealed position around the corner although, in the end, it is hardly a difficult decision to choose who to continue following. With a last glance to ensure that Charles does not see her—he seems devotely dedicated to Kenway—she trails after Kenway to the closest general store.

After he steps inside, Ziio swiftly ducks among a patch of tall grass and waits for him to reemerge. Thankfully she isn’t left to wait long as the chilly night breeze dances between blades of grass; Kenway soon appears with a small loaf of bread in his hands.

Really? He stops by the general store for a late night snack? Ziio rolls her eyes at the reminder that Kenway is a man like any other.

“Would you care for some?” he says into the quiet, seemingly to no one, and for a second Ziio wonders if his head is screwed on quite right—perhaps that is why he persists in wearing that damnable hat.

Only too late she realizes that he was talking to _her_ and is walking toward her hiding spot, gaze fixed uncannily in her direction. Ziio doesn’t think twice before bolting in the opposite direction, intent on the safety of the trees.

“Wait! I only wish to talk,” he calls after her.

Ziio chances a quick look over her shoulder and is alarmed to see that he is chasing behind her. She disappears into the surrounding thicket of foliage and scrambles up the nearest tree, realizing now that she is moving ever farther away from her village. She frowns at the man blocking her path home.

Haytham Kenway is utterly infuriating.

“I have no intention to harm you,” he insists, hands held up in front of him as a sign of peace. “If you’ll just come down to talk—”

She doesn’t wait for him to finish and traverses the trees, amazed that he has even bothered to follow her this far from the town.

“How—” Kenway cuts off his own exclamation of surprise in favor of continuing to track her from the ground.

Ziio wants to throw her hands up in exasperation. She must circle around soon to return to her village, but will need to somehow distract Kenway first.

Despite the scorching midday heat of summer, the nights have yet to catch up in temperature; Ziio doubts that Kenway will put up with the cold to chase an insignificant Native woman for long. She leads him on a relentless, winding pursuit through the Frontier, though she pauses once or twice to ensure that he is not harmed by the wolves. She can’t imagine that he’ll prolong this ridiculous chase when he is forced to deal with the untamed wildlife as well.

She inexplicably underestimates the Englishman’s _pig-headed_ tenacity.

* * *

After almost an hour, Ziio has had enough. She lands in front of Kenway with a soft _thud_ and he stares at her in shock, as if he hadn’t even expected to catch her.

“Are you touched in the head?” she asks irritably, gesturing ludicrously towards his hat.

He’s still looking at her blankly, mouth slightly agape. His face is mildly flushed from the past hour’s exertion. Ziio finds herself bafflingly charmed by the pink tinge to his skin.

“What do you want?” she continues when he doesn’t speak.

Kenway finally collects himself and straightens his posture, clearing his throat. “My apologies. I hope I have not caused too much trouble…”

Ziio raises her eyebrows because, Gods help her, he’s just followed her halfway across the Frontier and _this_ is what he has to say?

He seems to realize the absurdity of his words but presses on regardless. “May I know your name?”

She sighs. “I am Kaniehtí:io,” she answers, holding up a hand to stop him from trying to pronounce her name. “Don’t hurt yourself. Call me Ziio.”

Kenway frowns almost as if insulted that she thinks he won’t be able to properly articulate her true name, though he sensibly concedes defeat. “Very well. My name is Haytham Kenway—I do apologize for not introducing myself earlier.”

Ziio smiles wryly. “I know who you are.”

He does not seem particularly surprised to know that, though his startled blink tells her that he had not expected her to acknowledge her subterfuge.

“Now what is it that you want?” she repeats impatiently. The sooner he leaves, the sooner she can return to her village.

“I would like to know why you have been following me,” he replies mildly. “I saw you at the tavern a week ago, and you were there again when I was talking to Charles earlier.”

Had he known she was there the whole time? Her first instinct is to deny it, and yet the man named Charles had mentioned Braddock—The Bulldog.

“You spoke of taking down Braddock,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “Is that what you came here for?”

“To Concord? Yes, among other things.”

Is it possible that Haytham Kenway is an ally?

“Why?” she asks bluntly.

“He has turned bloodthirsty and irrational, with no consideration for the lives of others.” Kenway scowls as he thinks of Braddock. “He won’t listen to anyone who tries to reason with him: he is a danger to his soldiers and to innocent civilians alike.”

It isn’t fair that Ziio can’t even hold Kenway’s personal views against him; every word he speaks is just and true.

“I assume you have a quarrel with him as well?” he enquires. “Perhaps we may work together.”

Ziio studies him unashamedly—his grey eyes alight with fire and his voice smooth and persuasive. Somehow, standing in the middle of nowhere, he is still in his element, discussing future plans and allegiances. He withstands her scrutiny gracefully and waits for her to speak.

Maddening.

“Perhaps,” she agrees. “For now, though, you will collect some wood for a fire.”

He raises his eyebrows at the non sequitur. “I beg your pardon?”

Ziio rolls her eyes. “It is cold and too late to return to Concord. I will set up a camp while you collect wood to make a fire.”

“Ah.” Kenway rubs at the back of his neck ruefully. “I hope your people will not be worried about your absence.”

She waves away his concerns. “The Clan Mother will understand. What of your friend?” she asks, recalling Charles’ earnest expression whenever he glanced at Kenway.

“They will be fine,” he says.

“Then what are you standing around for?”

* * *

 She doesn’t have much to work with, but Ziio manages to construct a simple lean-to from some fallen trees. She fastens a makeshift door out of branches and the pelt of a deer that she stumbled upon while searching for materials.

“Are you hungry?” she asks when Kenway returns.

“I could eat,” he says slowly. “Why?”

Ziio points to the strips of meat that she’s laid out.

“Well then, yes, thank you.” He quickly blinks the impressed awe from his eyes.

Ziio smirks. “Set up the fire then, Kenway.”

“Is that a challenge? I assure you I am quite capable of doing so,” he mutters as he makes the fire pit with ease. “And my name is Haytham.”

Her smirk only widens as he sulks. He must be the most entertaining colonist that she has met. “Kenway,” she repeats with glee, “I will call you Haytham when you call me Kaniehtí:io.”

The newly ignited fire illuminates his answering scowl. She had not expected this assured man to be so vulnerable to her teasing, but she is delightfully surprised to find that, in some ways, Haytham Kenway is no different than the men of her own village.

* * *

In fact, as Ziio watches Haytham’s tumultuous expression when he examines the lean-to, she begins to wonder if the poised man she observed in the tavern that first night is even the same man as the one eyeing the shelter apprehensively.

“Ziio,” he says slowly, “this will scarcely fit one person. Where, exactly, am I meant to sleep?”

She struggles to smother her smile. “The night is cold, Kenway, so I thought we could share. Sleep will not come if you are unable to stop shivering.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. “I understand that you may not follow the same customs as myself, but it is hardly proper for—”

Ziio laughs and is unable to stop herself from uttering his name. “Haytham,” she says, still giggling to herself. Such strange tendencies to honor their peculiar ideals. “It is only me and you. Who is there to judge? I promise you I will not accost you in your sleep—although surely that would still be preferable to freezing outside.”

He makes an odd grimace at her words.

Perhaps he needs some time? “I’ll wait for you inside,” she says and squeezes into the lean-to, curling up on her side to preserve heat. If only she had encountered another deer, she could have used its pelt as a blanket. As it is, the makeshift door provides meagre protection against the wind.

“This woman will be the death of me,” she hears Haytham muttering outside. Ziio can’t help the small grin that reaches her lips when he cautiously enters the lean-to.

“Hurry up—I’m cold,” she orders.

Haytham sighs, apparently resigned to his fate. “Move over more, will you?”

“I _can’t_. Just lie down. And take off your cloak.”

His disgruntled expression only fuels her amusement as he struggles to remove the cloak in the limited space available.

“Now, lie down on your back.” Ziio carefully conceals her delight when he obeys without question, although he does huff out a breath. She doubts he is used to being ordered around.

Once Haytham is settled—or, at least, as settled as he can be when he is forced to keep his knees bent up to fit inside—Ziio shimmies closer to rest her head on his chest, wrapping his cloak around their bodies.

“Alright, Kenway?” she asks.

He grunts and hesitantly wraps his arm around her shoulders. Ziio turns her head to hide a smile. Never once had he seemed to regret following her, not even when he was led throughout the Frontier and forced to fend off attacking wolves; only now, after finding himself in a small enclosed space with a woman he has just met, does he seem to lament his decisions.

Slowly, he relaxes. Ziio is pleased when he pulls her tighter, resting one hand gently on his chest. Yes, Haytham Kenway _is_ endearing, with or without his stupid hat.

Ziio’s legs are falling asleep, though, and she loves riling him up, so she shifts and hooks a leg between his, pulling his closest knee down to splay on the ground. She hauls herself further up so she is half lying on him and sighs contently, ignoring the astonished sound that escapes him.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

“More comfortable,” she mumbles back and pats his chest. “Go to sleep, Kenway.”

He lays his head back down with a groan.

 

**III**

It is dark outside the Concord tavern once again. Full summer has arrived with a wave of suffocating humidity lingering well into the night. She hasn’t been able to locate Haytham since that night in the forest, but she has heard whisperings of Braddock’s movement occurring soon and is prepared to sit among white men one more time to glean information. After this, Gods willing, Braddock will be taken care of for good.

Of course, she’ll need to somehow find Haytham before that.

The noise emanating from the tavern is raucous—more lively, she’d wager, than she’s ever seen it. Is there news that she has missed? Have the Redcoats returned from a successful attack?

Ziio shakes her head at the loud voices—noticeable even as she stands ten feet from the door—and unobtrusively slips inside.

She quickly realizes that it is a brawl that has broken out in the tavern, not a celebration. Broken chairs and tables are strewn amongst unconscious bodies, with the remaining Redcoats uncaringly stepping over their comrades to gang up on—

 _Haytham?_ Standing in the middle of the room, he confidently dispatches every attack that comes his way.

Ziio rolls her eyes half-heartedly. Really, she would have thought that bar fights were beneath him, but it’s evident from the manic gleam in his eyes that he’s enjoying himself. She seats herself next to the bar, never taking her eyes off the skirmish. Haytham moves with the same smooth grace that decorates his speech and it’s clear that he possesses the skill and power of a whole pack of wolves. Ziio licks her lips at the magnificent sight before her.

“You are a good warrior,” she says when he is the only man left standing.

Haytham glances in her direction. “Ziio,” he says. “I did not realize that you were here. How have you been?”

Ziio smiles dryly and gestures for him to sit next to her. “I am well. It is not surprising that you did not notice me entering, seeing as you were quite occupied with every Redcoat in the building. I came here to learn more of Braddock’s next move, but it seems that you have left all of them out cold.”

He shrugs unrepentantly. “Nevermind—I already have all the information that you seek.”

“So you decided to beat it out of them?” she asks drolly, reaching for his hand to examine his bloodied knuckles.

“Ah.” He coughs. “No, not exactly. I had finished eavesdropping by then.”

Ziio uses a nearby bottle of alcohol to clean his hands off the best she can. “Well, what happened then?”

Is he pouting at her? “They were saying some rather… unsavory things,” he mutters. “About the Natives.”

She snorts. “Is that it? Don’t trouble yourself with their close-minded insults, Kenway. _I_ certainly learnt to ignore them long ago.”

Now is he scowling unhappily at her. “They were implying about the depravities they would partake in with a certain Native woman,” he elaborates reluctantly.

“Haytham, really,” she sighs, “it is nothing that I haven’t heard before. And I can handle myself.”

“Yes, well—” is he _blushing_? “—I simply sought to save you the trouble.”

Ziio smiles but doesn’t tease him. She brings the alcohol-soaked cloth up to his face, eyeing the cut on his lips. “This might sting a little,” she warns.

“I’m fine,” he protests. “You don’t have to—” He winces as she applies more pressure with the cloth.

“I told you it would sting,” she mutters. “What is happening with Braddock?”

Haytham holds admirably still as Ziio moves on to the other shallow scratches near his eye. “He plans to attack in a fortnight,” he says. “That should give us plenty of time to prepare.”

She nods absentmindedly. “That is what I heard yesterday as well. Nothing new then, it seems. You may be a little tender around the eye for the next few days,” she adds, pushing gently at the swollen area with her fingers.

His lips are twisted up in a grimace but he endures her treatment with dignity. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Alright,” she says, going over his face and hands one last time with the cloth, “this is as presentable as I can make you.”

“I’m always presentable,” he replies with a dry smile. “Thank you.”

Ziio snorts. “I will return to my village tonight to inform them of Braddock’s plans. If you would like to come, we can meet tomorrow with several other tribes that would also like to be involved.”

“Yes,” he says, “let’s do that. But first, Ziio, I will need to stop by my room at the inn—I plan on bringing a tent this time.”

* * *

“So this is where you’ve been staying?” Ziio asks, surveying the small but clean room that Haytham has rented at the inn.

He hums in response, grabbing a lightweight bag that has been stowed near his bed. “This should have everything we need,” he says to himself under his breath as he rummages through the sack.

Ziio watches his harried packing with amusement. “I’m sure I can get you there in one piece—you needn’t bring so many supplies.”

“What?” His voice is distracted. “Oh, no, it’s not that… Believe me, I know you can. I’m looking for—ah! There it is.” Haytham holds up an amulet with familiar markings. “Does this look familiar to you, Ziio?”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Where did you get that?”

“From an old friend. Do you know what it means?”

“I will show you after we take care of Braddock,” she promises. The old cave is a sacred area, but she thinks that the Gods will forgive her for bringing an Englishman this once. Haytham Kenway is no ordinary colonist.

“Thank you.” He smiles widely at her. In this moment, despite the—no, _because_ of the scabbed lip and bruised eye, he is the most handsome man in the world to her.

After all, no one has ever stood up for her character in the way he has.

* * *

Just as they are descending the stairs of the inn, Haytham pauses as if remembering something.

“I must tell Charles where we are off to,” he says apologetically. “He shouldn’t be too difficult to find.”

Ziio waves away his apology. “I’ll wait here,” she says, taking a seat at an unoccupied table.

Haytham nods and soon locates Charles having a pint with some other men that Ziio remembers seeing the first night she saw Haytham. She watches Haytham approach the group, and they all stand in greeting. She wants to shake her head at the imperious way he raises his hand in acknowledgement and gestures for them to sit. Ziio might never understand the customs of the colonists but it’s clear that Haytham does—and that he thrives in the power bestowed upon him.

When she had first seen Haytham in the tavern, she hadn’t understood _why_ exactly he was the one that they all looked up to—after all, words and charisma will only take a man so far. Now that she’s seen what he’s capable of in a fight, though, she realizes that Haytham truly is a leader of men.

Of course, she would never say that to his face. She fancies that he’ll need her around to keep his ego in check.

The men are asking about Haytham’s bruises now, with one particularly inebriated man laughing raucously and patting him on the back. Haytham bears it all in his stride, then begins gesturing in her direction. Although several eyebrows raise, only Charles is openly frowning at her.

 _Charles Lee_. He works under Braddock, Ziio suddenly recalls. Yet he wants the General dead? She will need to speak with Haytham about Lee, especially since the man is still staring at her suspiciously. She thinks he might have mouthed ‘savage’ while scowling at her, though it’s hard to tell from across the room.

Finally, Haytham extricates himself from his men.

“My apologies,” he says tightly. “Shall we be off then?”

Ziio is not surprised at his tone—he’s been tense ever since Lee seemingly expressed his displeasure at her presence.

“Is everything alright?” she asks mildly as they begin the day-long journey to her village.

“Yes, of course,” he replies, though his jaw is still clenched with restrained anger. “I’ll be having a word with Charles when we return.”

“He works with Edward Braddock,” Ziio states, again careful to keep her tone neutral.

“I fear he may have picked up some bad habits from Edward.” Haytham sighs. “I _will_ speak to him later.”

“You can’t change men’s minds, Haytham.”

He scowls fiercely. “That may be so for some, but not for _my_ men. And if they cannot change their ways, then they certainly won’t be my men for much longer.”

She can’t help the small smile at his words. “You’re a strange man, Haytham Kenway.”

* * *

They make decent ground over the next few hours. Once the moon is high in the sky, Ziio signals for them to stop.

“We should rest now and set up a camp,” she says. “Before the nocturnal predators become more active.”

Haytham inclines his head. “Very well. Shall you fetch the wood this time?”

Ziio snorts but doesn’t argue, soon returning with an armful of fuel for the fire. Upon seeing the tent that Haytham has set up, she unceremoniously drops her haul.

“Kenway,” she says, eyebrows raised, “this tent is even smaller than the lean-to.”

Haytham looks at her innocently. “Well, I’ve never had much need for a larger one—I’ve always found this to be a sufficient size.”

“And where, exactly, am I meant to sleep?” she asks, mimicking his own words.

He only smiles toothily and climbs into the tent. An involuntary shudder runs through her body. She should have known that he would not remain a passive participant in her teasing.

Ziio frowns at her abandoned firewood. “You’re going to sleep already?” she asks.

“Leave the fire and rest for awhile,” he says invitingly, a dark amusement in his voice.

She scowls then, realizing he thinks he’s gotten her back for last time. She’s underestimated him—again.

“Don’t get too cocky, Kenway,” she mutters under her breath and crawls through the opening, only to freeze when she notices that Haytham has already removed his cloak and outer jacket. Her breath quickens at the sight of his broad shoulders covered only by a fitted white shirt.

Haytham smirks and makes a show of settling himself on the ground, propping himself up on his hands.

“Is this a part of your customs then?” she asks dryly as she gently pushes down on his chest and lays on top of him, legs wrapped comfortably on the outside of his strong thighs. Ziio relishes in the feel of his hard muscles underneath her.

“I believe I’ll make an exception this time,” he says lowly in her ear.

“Just this time?” she asks smugly as his fingers skim down her sides.

“Well, I imagine I could be… _persuaded_ for more.”

Ziio throws her head back and lets out a delighted laugh. “Very good, Kenway. I’m impressed—your kind often aren’t this direct.”

“Oh? And have you been with others of… my kind?” he asks.

She smiles at his poorly concealed jealousy and brings her hand up to trace his jawline. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was a compliment, based on my own observations.”

Haytham hums noncommittally, apparently more interested in running his hands up her back to cradle the back of her head. “I’m afraid you’re a bad influence,” he breathes.

Ziio wants to _purr_ with pleasure when he begins massaging her scalp but settles for—finally—closing the distance between their lips, exhilarated by the soft pressure of his mouth on hers. He nips at her bottom lip and she smiles before opening her mouth and slipping her tongue out to greet his. Haytham makes a low sound in the back of his throat and takes control of the kiss, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her even closer.

Warmth pooling deliciously between her legs, she tugs impatiently at his shirt. “Off,” she commands, her hands already gliding under the fabric to caress the heated skin underneath.

He pulls away to remove the offending material, revealing a tapered waist and tantalizing treasure trail. “Yours as well,” he says roughly.

Ziio smiles and tugs off her fur overdress, leaving her torso bare and her bottom half covered by a wraparound skirt and leggings. Haytham’s gaze darkens as his eyes roam her body and settle on her breasts.

“Beautiful,” he grunts, and Ziio loves that _she_ is the reason his vision is clouded with lust—that Haytham’s normally eloquent articulation has deserted him completely.

She trails a hand through the enticing hair on his stomach and fiddles teasingly at the waistband of his trousers. The hard planes of his abdominal muscles tense under her sure touch.

“Ziio,” he moans lowly when she reaches down to cup his erection through his pants, his hips twisting up involuntarily in search of friction.

She smirks and angles her head for another kiss, drinking in his harsh breaths as she squeezes his cock. A brief flash of disappointment hits her when she realizes there isn’t room for her to slide down and enjoy the heavy weight of his cock in her mouth; she settles instead for dipping her hand under his trousers to rub at the precum collecting at his glans.

The direct contact on his cock seems to jolt him out of his lust-induced haze, and Haytham lifts his head to suck one nipple while his hand follows a similar path down to her clit. He rubs light circles that shoot pleasure throughout her body.

Ziio arches into his touch. “More,” she gasps, her grip on his cock slackening as a loud moan escapes her. “Haytham, _please_.”

His cock twitches at her words, though she is only coherent enough to run her fingers lightly over the pulsing erection. Haytham releases her nipple to recapture her mouth, the fingers playing at her clit now delving at her entrance.

She growls into his mouth when he finally inserts a dexterous finger deep inside her while his thumb remains at her clit.

“Next time,” Haytham bites out between kisses as he fucks her with his hand, “we are finding an area with enough space for me to—Do. This. Properly.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust and twist of his fingers.

Ziio keens desperately, hands scrabbling for purchase on his strong shoulders. Her whole body freezes as her climax approaches and she moans his name, his answering thrust pushing her over the edge. Her cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them deeper. Shakily, she collapses on top of him, still shuddering as the as he draws out her orgasm with light touches to her clit. She buries her head in his neck, breathing harshly.

“Give me a minute,” she mutters against his skin.

Haytham chuckles. “Take as long as you need,” he says, though his breath hitches at the end of his sentence and Ziio glances at him suspiciously.

He’s opened up his trousers and is palming his erection, now slick with her juices from his hand.

Impatient man, she thinks fondly, slapping his hand away. “Mine,” she murmurs as she strokes him.

His head falls back and his eyes close with pleasure. “Yes,” he agrees, canting his hips in time with her strokes.

“Let go, Haytham,” she whispers as she nibbles at his ear, reveling in the solid length of his cock in her hand.

He groans lowly. “Fuck,” he growls, his seed spilling out with hot pulses of his cock.

She smiles to herself and licks stray traces of cum off her hand. Haytham watches her with hooded eyes as he scoops the rest off his stomach and offers his hand to her. Ziio dutifully sucks his fingers clean, taking care to demonstrate the oral skills that he missed this time around.

Once she’s finished, Haytham tilts her chin up and kisses her gently. She smiles—has she ever smiled this much in her life?—and wraps her arms around his neck, settling against his long body before sleep takes her.

 

**IV**

 The day that Edward Braddock falls at Haytham’s hands is, without a doubt, the best day in Ziio’s life so far. She doesn’t think twice before dragging Haytham to the ancient cave of her ancestors, eager to repay him for aiding her people.

“It is… not what I had hoped for,” he admits after examining the markings on the wall for some time.

“What is it that you seek?” she asks curiously, slipping a hand in his and rubbing soothing circles against his skin.

Haytham startles, as if he had forgotten that he had not informed her. “I command a—a society, of sorts,” he explains. “The Templar Order. We are searching for a dangerous artifact that must be destroyed, lest it fall into unsafe hands.”

Ziio considers his words carefully. “And you believe my people may hold the key to locating this object?” At his answering nod, she shrugs. Everything certainly makes much more sense now. “What is the next step then?”

He only stares at her, his grey gaze roaming over every detail of her face.

“Haytham?” she prompts, impatiently now. Just when she thinks she is beginning to understand him…

His lips part, and they’re standing so close that his breath warms the space between them. “Say my name again.”

 _His name?_ That’s his next plan? No, Ziio will never understand this man.

“Haytham,” she says crossly. “Your name is Haytham Kenway. I thought we had established this many moons ago.”

Despite her tone, a smile graces his handsome features. “Just Haytham will do,” he says smugly, pulling her in for a kiss.

She has no idea what on Earth goes through his ridiculous head, but she certainly won’t complain. Ziio pushes insistently at his chest and he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat before returning to their kiss, allowing her to press his back up against the dark cave wall. She ducks away from his delicious mouth and sinks to her knees, determined this time to taste him properly.

Haytham watches her intently, and she rubs her cheek against the outline of his erection through his white trousers. “God, Ziio,” he hisses, one hand reflexively reaching down to brush her hair out of her face.

She smiles at his reaction. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” she confesses as she opens up his pants. “Although I’m not sure your friend Charles will approve—even after working together to kill Braddock, he doesn’t seem to like me much, does he?”

Haytham exhales loudly when her lips touch his cock. “Charles could bloody watch for all I care right now,” he replies. “But let’s focus on more pleasant thoughts, shall we?”

Ziio places open-mouthed kisses down the length of his cock—and what a magnificent cock it is. Sucking the tip into her mouth, she glances up to savor the sight before her: his head is thrown back, eyes closed and face flushed with arousal. She works her way up and down his thick cock, his low groans eliciting an answering pulse between her legs.

“Wait,” he says roughly after some time, gently pulling her head away.

Ziio pouts because she had so been looking forward to watching him come apart in her mouth, only to stop her protest when she realizes that he’s unbuttoning the stolen Redcoat jacket.

“This cave is certainly larger than the tent, don’t you think?” he asks mildly.

* * *

Ziio wonders if she should care that she’s now naked with an Englishman settled between her legs in her ancestors’ cave, but all thought leaves her when his tongue flicks repeatedly over her clit.

Pleasure builds within her as Haytham sucks and nibbles at her sensitive nub, his fingers rubbing gently inside her, but she can only think of cumming with his cock inside her and so pulls him up to lick at her juices that soak his lips.

“No more teasing,” she begs, rocking her hips up desperately against his erection.

Haytham seems to wholeheartedly agree as he sheathes himself with one sure thrust.

Ziio moans with satisfaction and wraps her legs around his waist. “ _Yes_ ,” she hisses when he pulls out almost completely and thrusts forward, arching under his sweat-slicked body and digging her nails into his back.

Haytham’s rhythm grows erratic and he groans. “God, Ziio, I’m going to—“

Ziio only whimpers in response, on the cusp of her own orgasm and she just needs—Gods, his pelvis brushes roughly against her clit and she’s pushed over the edge, walls clenching around his cock.

Haytham curses, burying himself deep inside her as he cums. “Fucking hell,” he says between uneven breaths.

Ziio hums in agreement, too exhausted to speak. She tugs insistently at his neck and he shakes his head.

“I’m too heavy—I’ll crush you.”

“I don’t care,” she says stubbornly and jerks more sharply. Haytham reluctantly relents, cock slipping from her body as he lies fully on top of her.

He _is_ heavy, but she loves the comforting weight and she pulls him closer still.

“I believe there are several other sites that we can check,” she says after a moment of silence. “Do you think this will be a common occurrence in each one?”

Haytham chuckles. “I could certainly be… persuaded.”

* * *

Six months later, Ziio has come to the conclusion that Haytham is still utterly infuriating, even with his lovely jawline and delightfully muscled body. After spending three blissful months together exploring her people’s land, he has vanished off to New York with his fellow Templars. She hasn’t heard from him since he left, although he _had_ warned her that correspondance would likely be scarce.

She misses him, though. Once he had explained his work to her, she knew that his leaving was necessary. It doesn’t make it any easier. She had never thought that she could miss a man this much, but his absence is an ever-present ache in her chest that has left her moody and irritable, to the point that even the people in her tribe are counting the days until the strange Englishman returns.

Ziio is sulking in her mother’s company when the Clan Mother breaks the news—two pieces of news, actually, that both leave Ziio shaking.

“Haytham Kenway has returned to Concord,” Clan Mother informs her. “He was successful, and his men have control of the colonists from now on.”

Ziio smiles proudly, for was there ever any doubt that he would succeed? “I will be off to Concord to meet him, then.”

Her mother nods solemnly. “Will you be telling him your good news?”

“What good news are you talking about?” Ziio wracks her mind for information that she may have forgotten. They haven't found the precursor site, have they? No, she’s sure that she would remember that.

Clan Mother laughs, a low, rich sound laced with wisdom. “I am surprised that, after all this time, you have not yet realized it, Kaniehtí:io.”

“Realized what?” Ziio asks impatiently. She does not like the implication that she has missed something—she is similar to Haytham in that sense.

“You are pregnant, my dear,” Clan Mother says, and her voice is tinged with anticipation at the prospect of grandchildren.

Head spinning, Ziio needs to sit down while her mother babbles on about names and baby clothes and—Gods preserve her—the possibility of _twins_ or _triplets_. Her mother might insist that she would be blessed to have twins, but Ziio rather thinks that a single child, a perfect mix of herself and Haytham, is all that she desires in the world.

* * *

Ziio finds Haytham not in the Concord tavern, but inexplicably standing on the tall hill that overlooks the town. Moonlight illuminates his familiar features and she ignores the hammering of her heart as she stands on tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks when she pulls away. “It’s cold.”

“It is nice to see you too, Ziio,” he replies teasingly, though the genuine sentiment in his eyes is unmistakable as he crushes his mouth back to hers.

Ziio is addicted to the taste of him, the smell, but she knows that some things must be discussed before she allows him to distract her further.

“You were successful in New York, then?” she prompts, breathing hard.

Haytham grunts, nuzzling the side of her neck. “The Assassins are taken care of.”

“Haytham,” Ziio says reproachfully as he continues to lave at her skin, though inwardly she is pleased that he has clearly missed her as much as she has missed him. “I have something to tell you.”

He lets out a small sigh of disappointment. “Can it wait? I’ve missed you, Kaniehtí:io.” He emphasizes his statement with another searing kiss.

Ziio finally laughs and smacks him lightly on the chest with a dull _thud_. “Get _off_ , Haytham. And to think that your people have the audacity to call us savages—did you think that pretty words would sway me so?”

“Is it working?” His low voice runs over her body, making her shudder as he cups her cheek.

“ _No_ , you oaf,” she lies, and he isn’t fooled one bit. “How did you learn to speak my name, anyway?”

Haytham allows her to change the subject, mimicking her actions as she settles down on the cool fall grass, legs outstretched. He presses his thigh and shoulder against hers, the ardour in his eyes now replaced by gentle affection.

“I had some help from your mother and William Johnson,” he confesses. “Kaniehtí:io,” he repeats, and the way his lips savor her name makes her weak. “Konnorónhkhwa, Kaniehtí:io.”

Damn mood swings. She blinks away the sudden moisture in her eyes. “I love you too, Haytham,” she whispers, leaning into his solid frame.

“The words are actually easier for me to say in Mohawk,” he admits. “I know that I have not always been the most demonstrative with words in terms of my… feelings for you, but I do hope that my actions did not leave any doubt in your mind.”

Ziio smiles. She knows that Haytham is not always comfortable with discussing his own emotions, knows that on occasion he still hurts from past scars—physical and emotional—but he is right that she already knew of his love for her long before today.

“Of course not, but it is nice to hear anyway—particularly since I am with child,” she says casually.

Haytham abruptly sits straighter, blinking at her in astonishment. “What?”

Ziio only raises her eyebrows. “My mother is hoping for triplets, although I think that if I asked her again, she may actually say quadruplets.”

“Gods, Ziio,” he groans, pulling her into his lap. “I love you, but one child will more than suffice for now.”

She laughs at his still dumbfounded expression. “It’s alright, Haytham. I was thinking the same.”

* * *

“A child,” Haytham breathes after they have relocated to his quarters to engage in a celebratory round of lovemaking and the initial shock has worn off. “When will he arrive?”

Ziio snorts. “‘Oh, we’re having a boy now, are we? I suppose _he_ will arrive in around six months.”

“Absolutely—he’ll be a true gentleman.”

“And what’s wrong with a girl?” she asks, tracing his soft lips with her finger.

“Oh, she would be beautiful,” he says in a strangled voice. “I think I would lose my mind worrying about the kinds of suitors she would attract.”

Ziio smirks. “With you as her father, that would not be a problem.”

He nips gently at her finger. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“And what of your Order?” she asks, abandoning his lips in favor of undoing the ribbon in his sex-mussed hair.

“With the Assassins taken care of, it should be relatively peaceful for the foreseeable future. I will have to ensure that all regions are safe for our child, then I think I should like to bring the two of you to the city, if you are interested,” he says with a sigh of contentment. “I don’t believe you’ve met Shay Cormac yet—our newest recruit. You would like him.”

Ziio has never wandered to the larger cities—she’s lived all her life in the Frontier. She’s certainly fascinated at the thought of experiencing Haytham’s way of life, and she wants their child to be familiar with both cultures. “I would love to,” she says honestly. “But what of the precursor sites?”

“Now that the Assassins are not a threat, the precursor site is no longer an urgent matter. Besides, if we couldn’t find it then it is highly unlikely that someone else will.” Haytham hums thoughtfully, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Perhaps when our lad is in need of some siblings, we can return to the search for the precursor sites.”


End file.
